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HEROINES OF SHAKSPEARE 



COMPRISINC 



(Z[l)c principal i^cmole (JTIiaractcrs 



PLAYS OF THE GREAT POET. 



ENGRAVED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF 

MB. CHARLES HEATH 

FROM DRAWINGS BY EMINENT ARTISTS. 



NEW YORK: 



JOHN WILEY, 161 BKOADWAY, 

AND 12 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON. 



1849. 



^n^^^"' 

^.^.- 



r9^ 



ADDRESS. 



What a celebrated critic (Mrs. Jameson) has applied to one of Shak- 
speare's Female characters may without much license be extended to 
(dl. Darting her far-glancing look from earth to heaven for some 
exquisite comparison, " to what," she asks, " shall we compare them, 1 
— to the silvery summer clouds which, even while- we gaze on them, 
shift their hues and forms, dissolving into air and light and rainbow 
showers ? — to the May morning, flush with opening blossoms and 
roseate dews, and ' charm of earliest birds V — to some wild and 
beautiful melody, such as some shepherd-boy might ' pipe to Ama- 
rillis in the shade V — to a mountain streamlet, now smooth as a 
mirror, in which the skies may glass themselves, and now leaping 
and sparkling in the sunshine — or rather, to the very sunshine itself — 
for so His genial spirit touches into life and beauty whatever it 
shines on !" 

"No one," remarks Hazlitt, in his "Characters of Shakspeare's 
Plays," — " no one ever hit the true perfection of the female character 
— the sense of weakness leaning on the strength of its affections for 
support — so well as Shakspeare ; no one ever so well painted 
natural tenderness, free from affectation and disguise ; no one ever 
so well showed how delicacy and timidity, when driven to extremity, 
grow romantic and extravagant, for the romance of his heroines (in 
which they abound) is only an excess of the habitual prejudices of 
their sex, scrupulous of being false to their vows, truant to their 



affections, and taught by the force of feeling when to forego tlie 
forms of propriety for the essence of it." 

To embody such conceptions — to give to each exquisite creation 
a " local habitation " in the min'''|i eye — is the object of the present 
■work. Artists of the highest reputation have been engaged to pro- 
duce characteristic portraits of the great Shakspeare Heroines, to 
show them "not mere poetical abstractions, nor, as they have been 
termed, mere ' abstractions of the affections :' 



But common clay ta'en from the common earth. 
Moulded by God, and tempered by the tears 
Of angels to the perfect form of—ivoman." 



CONTENTS. 



SUBJECT ARTIST. PLAT. 

MiRAxDA J. Hayter Tempest. 

Julia A. Egg Two Gentlemen. 

Silvia J. W. Wright Two Gentlemen. 

Mrs. Ford E. Corbould Merry Wives. 

Mrs. Page J. W. Wright Merry Wives. 

Anne Page J. W. Wright Merry Wives. 

I.Olivia W. P. Frith Twelfth Night. 

; Maria A. Egg Twelfth Night. 

J Viola A. Egg Twelfth Night. 

^ Isabella J. W. Wright Measure for Measure 

•Mariana J. W. Wright Measure for Measure. 

'Beatrice J. W. Wright Much Ado. 

; Hero J. W Wright Much Ado. 

TiTANi.*. K. Meadows Mids. Night's Dream. 

Princess of France ..../. W. Wright Love's Labor. 

'Jessica J. W. Wright Merchant of Venice. 

'Portia J. W. Wright Merchant of Venice. 

Rosalind K. Meadows As You Like It. 

Celia J. W. Wright . ... As You Like It. 

^ Audrey W. P. Frith As You Like It. - 

Helena J. W. Wright . . . All's Well. 

Katherine . A. Egg ... . . Taming of the Shrew 

■ MopsA A. Egg . ... Winter's Tale. - 

Perdita . , /. Hayter ..... Winter's Tale. 

Ladv Macbeth .... K. Meadows Macbeth 



VI CONTENTS. 

SUBJECT. AllTIST. PLAY. 

■ C0NST.4.NCE . J. W. Wright .... King John. 

• Lady Percy J. tV. Wright King Henry IV. 

-Princess Katherine . . . J. W. Wright King Henry V. 

Joan of Arc J. W. Wright King Henry VI. 

Margaret J. W. Wright King Henry VI. 

■Queen Margaret . . . . J.W. Wright King Henry VI. 

Lady Grey J. W. Wright King Henry VI. 

Lady Anne J. W. Wright King Richard III. 

Anne Bullen J. W. Wright King Henry VIII. 

Queen Katherine . . . . J. W. Wright King Henry VIII. 

Cressida K. Meadows Troilus and Cressida. 

V1RG11.1.4. -A. Johnston Coriolanus. 

Portia (wife of Brutus) . . J.W. Wright Julius Ciesar. 

Cleopatra IC. Meadows Anthony and Cleopatra 

Imogen J. W. Wright Cymbeline. 

Lavinia J. W. Wright Titus Andronicus. 

Cordelia A. Johnston King Lear 

Juliet /. Hayter Romeo and Juliet. 

Ophelia /. Hayter Hamlet. 

Desdemona A. Egg Othello. 




l/ 



MIRANDA. 



Miranda. Alack, for pity ! 

I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, 
Will cry it o'er again ; it is a hint, 
That wrings mine eyes to't. — Wherefore did they not 
That hour destroy us ? 

Prospero. Well demanded, wench ; 

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not ; 
So dear the love my people bore me ; nor set 
A mark so bloody on the business ; but 
W^ith colors fairer painted their foul ends. 
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark ; 
Bore us some leagues to sea ; where they prepar'd 
A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigg'd, 
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats 
Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us, 
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh 
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again. 
Did us but loving wrong. 

Miranda. Alack ! what trouble 

Was I then to you ! 

Prospero. O ! a cherubim 

Thou wast, that did preserve me ! Thou didst smile. 
Infused with a fortitude from heaven. 
When I have deck'd the sea with (hops full salt; 
Under my burden groan'd ; which rais'd in me 
An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
Against what should ensue. 

Miranda. How came we ashore ? 

Prospero. By Providence divine. 
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
Out of his charity (who being then appointed 
Master of this design), did give us ; with 
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries. 
Which since have steaded much ; so, of his gentleness, 
Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me. 
From my own library, with volumes that 
I prize above my dukedom. 

Miranda. 'Would, I might 

But ever see that man ! 

Tempest. — Ad. I., Scene 11. 



JULIA. 



Julia. I would, I knew his mind. 

Lucetta. Peruse this paper, madam. 

Julia. " To Julia," — Say, from whom ? 

Lucetta. That the contents will show 

Julia. Say, say ; who gave it thee 1 

Lucetta, Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think, from 
Proteus ; 
He would have given it you, but I, being in the way, 
Did in your name receive it ; pardon the fault, I pray. 

Julia. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! 
Dare you presume to harbor wanton lines 1 
To whisper and conspire against my youth 1 
Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, 
And you an officer fit for the place. 
There, take the paper, see it be return'd ; 
Or else return no more into my sight. 

Lucetta. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. 

Julia. Will you begone 1 

Lucetta. That you may ruminate. [^Exit 

Julia. And yet, I would, I had o'erlook'd the letter. 
It were a shame to call her back again, 
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. 
What fool is she, that knows I am a maid. 
And would not force the letter to my view ! 
Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that 
Which they would have the profferer construe. Ay 
Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love. 
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, 
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod ! 
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence. 
When willingly I would have had her here ! 
How angerly I taught my brow to frown. 
When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile ! 
My penance is, to call Lucetta back. 
And ask remission for my folly past : — 
What ho! Lucetta! 

Two Gentlemen or Verona. — Act L, Scene IL 



SILVIA. 



Silvia. Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man! 
Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless, 
To be seduced by thy flattery, 
Thou hast deceived so many with thy vows 1 
Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
For me, — by this pale queen of night I swear, 
I am so far from granting thy request. 
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit ; 
And by and by intend to chide myself. 
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 

Proteus. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; 
But she is dead. 

Julia. 'Twere false, if I should speak it ; 
For, I am sure, she is not buried, [Jiside 

Silvia. Say, that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, 
Survives; to whom, thyself art witness, 
I am betroth'd : And art thou not asham'd 
To wrong him with thy importunacy 1 

Proteus. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. 

Silvia. And so suppose am I ; for in his grave, 
Assure thyself, my love is buried. 

Proteus. Sweet lady, let me rake ft from the earth. 

Silvia. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence ; 
Or, at the least in hers, sepulchre thine. 

Julia. He heard not that. [Jiside 

Proteris. Madam, if your heart be obdurate, 
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, 
The picture that is hanging in your chamber; 
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep : 
For, since the substance of your perfect self 
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow ; 
And to your shadow will I make true love. 

Two Gentlemen of Vekona. — Act IV., Scene 11. 



MRS. FORD, 



Mrs. Ford. VChx, this is the ven- same; the very hand, the very 
•words : What doth he think of us ? 

Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not ; it makes me almost ready to 
wrangle with mine own honest)-. I'll entertain myself like one that 
I am not acquainted withal ; for, sure, unless he know some strain 
in me, that I know not myself, he would never have boarded me in 
this fury. 

Mrs. Ford. Boarding call you it ? FU be sure to keep him above 
deck. 

Mrs. Page. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I'll never to 
sea again. Let's be revenged on him; let's appoint him a meeting; 
give him a show of comfort in his suit ; and lead on with« fine- 
baited delay, till he hath pawned his horses to mine Host of the 
Garter. 

^Irs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villany against him, 
that may not sully the chariness of our honest}-. 0, that my husband 
saw this letter ! it would give eternal food to his jealousy. 

Mrs. Pase. \Miy, look, where he comes ; and my good man, too ; 
he's as far from jealous)', as I from giving him cause; and that, I 
hope, is an unmeasurable distance. 

Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 

Mn. Page. Let's consult together against this greasy knight : 
Come hither. 

Meeey Wives of Wixdsok. — Ad II., Scene II. 



MRS. PAGE. 



Mrs. Page. What a Herod of Jury is this ! — wicked, wicked 
world ! — one that is well nigh worn to pieces with age, to show him- 
self a young gallant ! What an unweighed behavior hath this 
Flemish drunkard picked (with the devil's name) out of my conver- 
sation, that he dares in this manner assay me '? Why, he hath not 
been thrice in my company ! — What should I say to him ? — I was 
then frugal of my mirth : — Heaven forgive me ! — Why, I'll exhibit a 
bill in the parliament for the putting down of fat men. How shall I 
be revenged on him ? for revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are 
made of puddings. 

Enter Mistress FoKn. 

Mrs. Ford. Mistress Pag'e ! trust me, I was going to your house. 

Mrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look very ill. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that : I have to show to the 
contrary. 

Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my mind. 

Mrs. Ford. Weil, I do then ; yet. I say, I could show you to the 
contrary : 0, mistress Page, give me some counsel ! 

Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman ? 

Mrs. Ford. We burn day-light ; here, read, read. — I shall think the 
worse of fat men, as long as I have an eye to make diiference of men's 

liking What tempest, I trow, threw this whale, with 

so many tuns of oil in his belly, ashore at Windsor ? How shall I 
be revenged on him 1 Did you ever hear the like 1 

Mrs. Page. Letter for letter ; but that the name of Page and Ford 
differs ! — To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill opinions, here's 
the twin-brother of thy letter : but let thine inherit first ; for, I pro- 
test, mine never shall. I warrant he hath a thousand of these letters, 
writ with blank space for different names (sure more), and these are 
of the second edition. 

Merry Wives of Windsor. — Jld II., Scene I. 



ANNE PAGE. 



Anne Page. Will't please your worship to come in, sir 1 

Slender. No, I thank jou, forsooth, heartily ; I am very well. 

Anne Page. The dinner attends you, sir. 

Slender. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth : Go, sirrah, for 
all you are my man, go, wait upon my cousin Shallow \_Exit Simple]. 
A justice of peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for a man : — 
I keep but three men and a boy yet, till my mother be dead : But what 
though ? yet I live like a poor gentleman born. 

Anne Page. 1 may not go in without your worship : they will not sit 
till you come. 

Slender. I'faith, I'll eat nothing ; I thank you as much as though 
I did. 

Anne Page. I pray you, sir, walk in. 

Slender. I had rather walk here, I thank you : I bruised my shin 
the other day with playing at sword and dagger with a master of fence, 
three veneys for a dish of stewed prunes ; and, by my troth, I cannot 
abide the smell of hot meat since. W^J flo your dogs bark so 1 be 
there bears i' the town 1 

An?ie Page. I think there are, sir ; I heard them talked of. 

Slender. 1 love the sport well ; but I shall as soon quarrel at it as 
any man in England : — You are afraid if you see the bear loose, are you 
not 1 

Anne Page. Ay, indeed, sir. 

Slender. That's meat and drink to me now ; I have seen Sackerson 
loose twenty times ; and have taken him by the chain : but, I warrant 
you, the women have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it passed : — 
but women, indeed, cannot abide 'em ; they are very ill-favor'd rough 
things. 

Merry Wives of Windsor. — Act I., Scene 11. 



Anne Pi 

Slender. 

Anne Pc 

Slender. 

all you ar( 

A justice o 

I keep but 

though 1 yi 

Anne Pc 

till you coi 

Slender. 

I did. 

Anne Pc 

Slender. 

the other d 

three vene; 

abide the ! 

there bears 

Antie Pl 

Slender. 

any man in 

not? 

Anne Po 

Slender. 

loose twen 

you, the w 

but women 

things. 



OLIVIA. 



Viola. I see you what you are : you are too proud ; 
But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
My lord and master loves you ; 0, such love 
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd 
The nonpareil of beauty ! 

OUiia. How does he love me ? 

Viola. With adorations, with fertile tears, 
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 

Olivia. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him : 
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, 
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, 
And in dimension, and the shape of nature, 
A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him j 
He might have took his answer long ago. 

Viola. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
W ith such a suffering, such a deadly life, 
In your denial I would find no sense, 
I would not understand it. 

Olivia. Why, what would you ? 

Viola. ^lake me a willow cabin at your gate, 
And call upon my soul within the house ; 
Write loyal cantons of contemned love, 
And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; 
Holla your name to the reverberate hills. 
And make the babbling gossip of the air 
Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest 
Between the elements of air and earth, 
But you should pity me. 

Olivia. You might do much : What is your parentage 1 

Viola. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
I cun a gentleman. 

Olivia. Get you to your lord ; 

1 cannot love him : let him send no more ; 
Unless, perchance, you come to me again, 
To teU me how he takes it Fare you well : 
I thank you for your pains : spend this for me. 

Twelfth Night. — Act I., Scene V. 



MARIA. 



Sir Toby. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of 
her brother thus ? I am sure, care's an enemy to hfe. 

Maria. By my troth. Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights • 
your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. 

Sir Toby. Why, let her except before excepted. 

Maria. Aye, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits 
of order. 

Sir Toby. Confine ? I'll confine myself no finer than I am : these 
clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too ; an 
they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. 

Maria. That quaffing and drinking will undo you : I heard my 
lady talk of it yesterday ; and of a foolish knight, that you brought 
in one night here, to be her wooer. 

Sir Toby, ^\^lo, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek 1 

Maria. Aye, he- 

Sir Toby. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. 

Maria. What's that to the purpose 1 

Sir Toby. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. 

Maria. Aye, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats ; he's a 
very fool and a prodigal. 

Sir Toby. Fye, that you'll say so ! he plays o' the viol-de-gambo, 
and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, 
and hath all the good gifts of nature. 

Maria. He hath, indeed, — almost natural : for, besides that he's a 
fool, he's a great quarreller ; and, but that he hath the gift of a 
coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among 
the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. 

Sir Toby. By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors, that 
say so of him. Who are they ? 

Maria. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your 
company. 

Sir Toby. With drinking healths to my niece ; I'll diink to her, as 
long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria : He's 
a coward, and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his 
brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. 



Twelfth Night. — .fid I., Scene III. 



VIOLA. 



Viola. I left no ring with her : What means this lady ? 
Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her ! 
She made good view of me ; indeed, so much. 
That, sure, raethought her eyes had lost her tongue, 
For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion 
Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none. 
I am the man ; — If it be so (as 'tis). 
Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, 
"Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
How easy is it for the proper false 
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! 
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ; 
For, such as we are made of, such we be. 
How will this fadge ? My master loves her dearly ; 
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; 
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me : 
What will become of this ! As I am man. 
My state is desperate for my master's love ; 
As I am woman, now alas the day ! 
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ? 
time, thou must untangle this, not I ; 
It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit. 

Twelfth Night. — jid II., Scene II. 



I „p ,' 




ISABELLA. 



Isabella. I have a brother is condemn'd to die: 
I do beseech you, let it be his fault, 
And not my brother. 

Angela. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ! 
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done : 
Mine were the very cypher of a function. 
To fine the faults, whose fine stands in record. 
And let go by the actor. 

Isabella. O just, but severe law ! 

I had a brother then. — Heaven keep your honor ! 

Must he needs die 1 

Jlngelo. Maiden, no remedy 

He's sentenc'd : 'tis too late 

Isabella. Too late 1 why, no ; I, that do speak a word. 
May call it back again : Well, believe this. 
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs. 
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword. 
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, 
Become them with one half so good a grace. 
As mercy does. If he had been as you. 
And you as he, you would have slipt like him ; 
But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 

./Ingelo. 'Pray you, begone. 

Isabella. I would to Heaven I had your potency. 
And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus ? 
No ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge. 
And what a prisoner. 

Jlngelo. Your brother is a forfeit of the law. 

And you but waste your words 

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother : 

Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, 

It should be thus with him ; — he must die to-morrow. 

Isabella. To-morrow ? O, that's sudden ! Spare him, spare 
him : 
He's not prepar'd for death! 

Measure for Measure. — Jlct II., Scene II. 




J W Wiiglit 



7//fy/^^i 



'- ^ yyff?//!^//^^^ 



MARIANA. 



Mariana. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away ; 
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice 
Halh often still'd my brawling discontent. — 

Enter Duke. 
I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish ^ 

You had not found me here so musical : 
Let me excuse me, and believe me so, 
My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. 

Duke. 'Tis good : though music oft hath such a charm, 
To make bad, good, and good provoke to harm. 
I pray you, tell me, hath anybody inquired for me here to-day 1 
Much upon this time have I promised here to meet. 
Mariana. You have not been inquired after : I have sat here all 
day. 

Enter Isabella. 

Duke. I do constantly believe you : — The time is come, even now. 
I shall crave your forbearance a little ; may be, I will call upon you 
anon, for some advantage to yourself. 

Mariana. I am always bound to you. [Exit. 

Measure for Measure. — .^ct IV., Scene I. 



BEATRICE. 



Beatrice. I pray you, is signior Montano returned from the wars, or 
no ? 

Messenger. I know none of that name, lady ; there was none such in 
the army of any sort. 

Leonato. What is he that you ask for, niece ? 

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua. 

Messenger. 0, he is returned ; and as pleasant as ever he was. 

Beatrice. He set up his bills here in Messina, and challenged Cupid at 
the flight: and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for 
Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. — I pray you, how many hath 
he killed and eaten in these wars ? But how many hath he killed ? for, 
indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing. 

Leonato. 'Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too much ; but he'll 
be meet with you, I doubt it not. 

Messenger. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. 

Beatrice. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it : he is a 
very valiant trencher-man, he hath an excellent stomach. 

Messenger. And a good soldier too, lady. 

Beatrice. And a good soldier to a lady : — But what is he to a lord 1 

Messenger. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; stuffed with all 
honorable virtues. 

Beatrice. It is so, indeed ; he is no less than a stuffed man : — But for 
the stuffing, — Well, we are all mortal. 

Much Ado about Nothing. — Jict I., Scene I. 



HERO. 



Claudia. Give me your hand before this holy friar ; 
I am vour husband, if you Uke of me. 

Hero. And when I lived, I \ras your other wife : 

[Unmasking. 
And when you lored, you were my other husband. 

Claudia. Another Hero ! 

Hero. Nothing certainerj 

One Hero died defil"d ; but I do live, 
And, surelv as I live, I am a maid. 

Don Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead ! 

Leonato. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander lived. 

Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ; 
"When, after that the holy rites are ended, 
1*11 tell you largely of fair Hero's death : 
Meantime, let wonder seem familiar, 
And to the chapel let us presently. 

Benedick. Soft and fair, friar. — ^Which is Beatrice ? 

Beatrice. I answer to that name : [Unmasking.^ What is 
your will? 

Benedick. Do not you love me ? 

Beatrice. Why, no, no more than reason. 

Benedick. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio, 
Have been deceiv'd ; for they swore you did. 

Beatrice. Do not you love me? 

Benedick. Troth, no, no more than reason. 

Beatrice. "Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, 
Are much deceiv'd ; for they did swear you did. 

Benedick. They swore that you were almost sick for me. 

Beatrice. Thev swore that you were well nigh dead for me. 

Benedick. Tis no such matter : — Then you do not love me. 

Beatrice. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 

Leonato. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. 

Claudio. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her; 
For here's a paper, written in his hand, 
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
Fashion'd to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here's another, 

"Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket. 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 

MccH Ano About Nothing. — »icf V., Scene IV. 



T I T A N I A 



Tiiania. My Oberon ! what visions hare I seen ! 
Methouffbt I was enamor'd of an ass. 

Oberon. There lies votir love. 

Tiiania, How came these things to pass ? 

O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now ! 

Oberon. Silence, awhile. — Robin, take off this head. — 
T.tania, music call ; and strike more dead 
Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. 

Tiiania. Music, ho ! music : such as charmeth sleep. 

Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own fool's eyes peep. 

Oberon. Sound, music. [Still music.'] Come, my queen, tsike 
hands with me. 
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
Now thou and I are new in amity ; 
And will, to-morrow midniffht, solemnly. 
Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
And bless it to all fair posterity : 
There shall the pairs of faithfid lovers be 
Wedded, with Theseus, sJl in jollity. 

Puck. Fairy king, attend and mark ; 
I do hear the morning lark. *■ 

Oberon. Then, my queen, in silence sad, w 

Trip we after the night's shade : ^^ 

We the globe can compass soon, 
Swifter than the wand'ring moon. 

Titania. Come, my lord ; and in our flight. 
Tell me how it came this night. 
That I sleeping here was found. 
With these mortals on the ground. [Exeunt. 

MiDscMMER Xight's Deeam. — .id. IV., Scene I. 



PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 



Princess. Amaz'd, mv lord ! Why looks your highness sad 1 
Bosaline. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon ! Why look 
you palel 
JSea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. 

Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. 

Can any face of brass hold longei^hlt ? — 
Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ; 

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; 
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance; 

Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; 
And I will wish thee never more to dance, 

Nor never more in Russian habit wait 
O ! never will I trust to speeches penn'd. 

Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue ; 
Nor ever come in visor to my friend ; 

Nor woo in rhiiTne like a blind harper's song; 
Taffata phrases, silken terms precise, 

Three pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, 
Figures pedantical ; these summer-flies 

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation : 
I do forswear them, and I here protest. 

By this white glove (how white the hand, God knows I), 
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd 

In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes ; 
And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, la ! — ■ 
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. 

Love's Labok's Lost. — .id V., Scene II. 




-/ 



v^ 



PORTIA 



Portia. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great 
world. 

JSTerissa. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the 
same abundance as your good fortunes are : And yet, for aught I see, 
they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with 
nothing : It is no mean happiness therefore to be seated in the mean ; 
superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. 

Portia. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 

JYerissa. They would be better, if well followed. 

Portia. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to ilo, 
chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. 
It is a good divine that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach 
twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow 
mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood ; but a 
hot temper leaps over a cold decree ; such a hare is madness the youth, 
to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning 
is not in the fashion to choose me a husband : — O me, the word choose ! 
I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike ; so is 
the will of a living daughter curb'c' by the will of a dead father : Is it 
not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none 1 

JYerissa. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy men, at their death, 
have good inspirations ; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in 
these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead (whereof who chooses his 
meaning, chooses you), will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, 
but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your 
affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come 1 

Portia. I pray thee over-name them ; and as thou namest them, I 
will describe them ; and, according to my description, level at my 
affection. 

Merchant of Venice. — j3d I., Scene II. 



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C E L I A . 



Cdia. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ; — CupiJ, have mercy ! — Not a 

WOlfl ? 

Rosalind. Not one to throw at a dog 

Celia. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, 
throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. 

Rosalind. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when the one 
should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any. 

Celia. But is all this for your father ? 

Rosalind. No, some of it for my child's father. 0, how full of 
briers is this working-day world ! 

Celia. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday 
foolery ; if we walk "not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats 
will catch them. 

Rosalind. I could shake them oif my coat, these burs are in my 
heart. 

Celia. Hem them away. 

Rosalind. I would try : if I would cry hem, and have him. 

Celia. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 

Rosalind. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. 

Celia. 0, a good wish upon you ! you will try in time, in despite 
of a fall. — But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good 
earnest : Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so 
strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son ? 

Rosalind. The duke my father loved his father dearly. 

Celia. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son 
dearly ? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father 
hated his father dearly ; yet I hate not Orlando. 

Rosalind. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. 

Celia. Why should I not 1 doth he not deserve well 1 

Rosalind. Let me love him for that ; and do you love him, because 
1 do : — Look, here comes the duke. 

Celia. With his eyes full of anger. 



As You Like It. — ^d I., Scene III. 



AUDREY. 



Touchstone. Come apace, good Audrey : I will fetch up your goats, 
Audrey : and how, Audrey ? am I the man yet ? Doth my simple 
feature content you 1 

Audrey. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what features 1 

Touchstone. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capri- 
fcious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. Truly, I would the 
gods had made thee poetical. 

Audrey. I do not know what poetical is : Is it honest in deed, and 
word ? Is it a true thing 1 

Touchstone. No, truly ; for the truest poetry is the most feigning : 
and lovers are given to poetry ; and what they swear in poetry, may be 
said, as lovers, they do feign. 

Audrey. Do you wish the that the gods had made me poetical 1 

Touchstone. I do, truly : for thou swear'st to me thou art honest ; 
now, if thou wert a poet, I might hr _■ some hope thou didst feign. 

Audrc'/. Would you not have me honest ? 

ToU'Jistone. No truly, unless thou wert hard favor'd : for honesty 
coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar. 

Jaqucs. A muierial Ibol ! [Aside. 

Audrey. Well, I am not fair ; and therefore I praj the gods make me 
honest ! 

Touchstone. Truly ; and to cast away honesty upon a fc:! slut, were 
to put good meat into an unclean dish. 

Audrey. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. 

Touchstone. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness ! sluttishness 
may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee : and to 
that end, I have been with Sir Ohver Mar-text, the vicar of the next 
village ; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and 
to couple us. 

Audrey. Well, the gods give us joy ! 

As You Like It. — Act III., Scene III. 



KATHARINE. 



Katharine. They call me — Katharine, that do talk of me. 

Petruchio. You lie, in faith ; for you are call'd plain Kate, 
And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst ; 
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate, 
For dainties are all cates ; and therefore, Kate, 
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation, — 
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, 
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded 
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs), 
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. — 

Katharine. Mov'd ! in good time ; let him that mov'd you hither. 
Remove you hence : I knew you at the first. 
You were a moveable. 

Petruchio. Why, what's a moveable 1 

Katharine. A joint-stool. 

Petruchio. Thou hast hit it : come, sit on me. 

Katharine. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. 

Petruchio. Women are made to bear, and so are you. 

Katharine. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean. 

Petruchio. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee ; 
For knowing thee to be but young and light, — 

Katharine. Too light for such a swain as you to catch ; 
And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 

Petruchio. Should be 1 Should buz. 

Katharine. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard — 

Petruchio. 0, slow-wing'd turtle ! shall a buzzard take thee 1 

Katharine. Ay, for a turtle ; as he takes a buzzard — 

Petruchio. Come, come, you wasp ; i'faith, you are too angry. 

Katharine. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. 

Petruchio. My remedy is then, to pluck it out. 

Taming of the Shrew. — Act II., Scene I. 



MOPSA. 



Mopsc. Come, you promised mc a tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet 
gloves 

Clown. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by the way, and 
lost all my money ? 

Autolycus. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad : therefore it 
behoves men to be wary. 

Clown. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here. 

Autolycus. I hope so, sir ; for I have about me many parcels of 
charge. 

Clown. What hast here 1 ballads ? 

Mopsa. 'Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in print, a'-life : for 
then we are sure they are true. 

Autolycus. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a usurer's wife 
was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden ; and how she 
longed to eat adders' heads, and toads carbonadoed. 

Mopsa. Is it true, think you 1 

Autolycus. Very true, and but a month old 

Dorcas. Bless me from marrying a usurer ! 

Autolycus. Here's the midwife's name to 't, one mistress Taleporter ; 
and five or six honest wives that were present : Why should I carry 
lies abroad '? 

Moj)sa. 'Pray you now, buy it. 

Clown. Come on, lay it by : And let's first see more ballads : we'll 
buy the other things anon. 

Autolycus. Here's another ballad, of a fish, that appeared upon the 
coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom 
above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids ; it 
was thought she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish, for 
she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her: The ballad is 
very pitiful, and is true. 

Dorcas. Is it true, think you 1 

Autolycus. Five justices' hands at it ; and witnesses, more than my 
pack will hold. 

Clown. Lay it by too : Another. 

Autolycus. This is a merry ballad ; but a very pretty one. 

Mopsa. Let's have some merry ones. 

Winter's Tale — Act IV., Scene III 



P E R D I T A , 



Florizel. What you do, 

Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, 
I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; 
Piay so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, 
To sing them too : When you do dance, I wish you 
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do 
Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own 
No other function : Each your doing, 
So singular in each particular, 
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, 
That all your acts are queens. 

Perdita. O Doricles, 

Your praises are too large : but that your youth, 
And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it. 
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd ; 
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
You woo'd me the false way. 

Florizel. I think, you have 

As little skill to fear, as I have purpose 
To put you to't. — But, come ; our dance, I pray : 
Your hand, my Perdita : so turtles pair, 
That never mean to part. 

Perdita. I'll swear for 'em. 

Winter's Tale.— .^d IV., Scene III. 




\ 







V> 



\ 



LADY MACBETH. 



Lady Macbeth. Go, get some water, 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — 
Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear 
The sleepy grooms with blood. 

Macbeth. I'll go no more : 

I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
Look on't again, I dare not. 

Lady Macbeth. Infirm of purpose ! 

Give me the daggers : The sleeping, and the dead, 
Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood, 
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal. 
For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. Knocking within. 

Macbeth. Whence is that knocking ? 

How is't with me, when every noise appals me 1 
What hands are here ! Ha ! they pluck out mine eyes ! 
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand 1 No ; this my hand will rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnadine. 
Making the green — one red. 

Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady Macbeth. My hands are of your color : but I shame 
To wear a heart so white. [Knock^ I hear a knocking 
At the south entry : — retire we to our chamber : 
A little water clears us of this deed : 
How easy is it then ? Your constancy 

Hath left you unattended. — [Knocking.'] Hark ! more knocking : 
Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us. 
And show us to be watchers: — Be not lost 
So poorly in your thoughts. 

Macbeth. To know my deed. — 'twere best not know myself. 

[Knock. 
Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! I would, thou could'st ? 

[Exeunt. 

Macbeth. — id IL, Scene IL 



CONSTANCY. 



Constance. I will iiistiuct my sorrows to be proud : 
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. 
To me, and to the state of my great grief. 
Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great, 
That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
Can hold it up : here I and sorrow sit ; 
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 

She throws herself on the ground. 
Enter King Jonx, Ki\g Philip, Lewis, Blanch, Elinuk, Bastard, 
Al'stria, and Attendants. 

King Philip. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed day, 
Ever in France shall be kept festival : 
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun 
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist ; 
Turning, with splendor of his precious eye. 
The meagre cloddy earth to glistering gold : 
The yearly course, that brings this day about. 
Shall never see it but a holiday. 

Constance. A wicked day, and not a holyday ! — [Rising. 
What hath this day deserv'd ? what hath it done ; 
That it in golden letters should be set, 
Among the high tides, in the calendar ? 
Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week ; 
This day of shame, oppression, perjury : 
Or if it must stand still, let wives with child 
Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day. 
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd ; 
But on this day, let seamen fear no wreck , 
No bargains break, that are not this day made : 
This day, all things begun come to ill end ; 
Yea, faith itself to hollow folsehood change ! 

Kl\o JuiiN. — ^ict III., Scene I. 



LADY PERCY. 



Lady Percy. In faith, 
I'll know your business, Harry, that I will. 
I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir 
About his title ; and hath sent for you. 
To line his enterprise : But if you go 

Hotspur. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. 

Lady Percy. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
Directly to this question that I ask. 
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, HaiTy, 
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 

Hotspur. Away, 
Away, you trifler ! — Love ! I love thee not, 
I care not for thee, Kate ; this is no world. 
To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips : 
We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns, 
And pass them current too. — Gods me, my horse ! — 
What say'st thou, Kate ? what wouldst thou have with me ? 

Lady Percy. Do you not love me 1 do you not indeed 1 
Well, do not then ; for since you love me not, 
I will not love myself. Do you not love me 1 
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no. 

Hotspur. Come, wilt thou see me ride ? 
And when I am o' horseback, I will swear 
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate ; 
I must not have you henceforth question me 
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout : 
Whither I must, I must ; and, to conclude, 
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
I know you wise ; but yet no further wise, 
Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are ; 
But yet a woman : and for secresy, 
P^o lady closer ; for I well believe. 
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ; 
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate ! 

Lady Percy. How ! so far 1 

Hotspur. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate 1 
Whither 1 go, thither shall you go too ; 
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. — 
Will this content you, Kate 1 

Lady Percy. It must, of force. 

Kfng Henkv IV., Part L — Act IL, Scene HI 



PRINCESS KATHARINE OF FRANCE. 



King Henry. Come, your answer in broken musiok ; for thy voice is 
musick, and thy English broken : therefore, queen of all, Katharine, 
break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me 1 

Princess Katharine. Dat is, as it shall please de roy mon pere. 

King Henry. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it shall please him, 
Kate. 

Princess Katharine. Den it shall also content me. 

King Henry. Upon that I will kiss your hand, and I call you — my 
queen. 

Princess Katharine. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez : mafoy, 
je ne veux point que vous ahaissez vostre grandeur, en baisant la main 
(Tune vostre indigne serviteure ; excusez moy, je vous supplie, mon tres 
puissant seigneur. 

King Henry. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 

Princess Katharine. Les dames, et damoiselles, pour estre baisees 
devant leur nopces, il n'est pas le coutume de France. 

King Henry. Madam, my interpreter, what says she ? 

Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of France — I cannot 
tell what is, baiser, en English. 

King Henry. To kiss. 

Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre qu moy. 

King Henry. It is not the fashion for the maids in France to kiss 
before they are married, would she say 1 

Alice. Ouy, vrayment. 

King Henry. Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great kings. Dear 
Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's 
fashion : we are the makers of manners, Kate ; and the liberty that 
follows our places, stops the mouths of all find-faults ; as I will do 
yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country, in denying me 
a kiss : therefore patiently, and yielding. [Kissing Aer.] You have 
witchcraft in your lips, Kate : there is more eloquence in a sugar 
touch of them than in the tongues of the French council ; and they 
should sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general petition of 
monarchs. 

King Henky V. — Act V., Scene H. 



JOAN OF ARC. 



Pucette. First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd; 
Not one begotten of a shepherd swain, 
But issu'd from the progeny of kings ; 
Virtuous, and holy; chosen from above, 
By inspiration of celestial grace, 
To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
I never had to do with wicked spirits : 
But you, — that are polluted with your lusts, 
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, 
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, — 
Because you want the grace that others have, 
You judge it straight a thing impossible 
To compass wonders, but by help of devils. 
No, misconceived ! Joan of Arc hath been 
A virgin from her tender infancy, 
Chaste and immaculate in very thought ; 
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd. 
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 

York. Ay, ay ; — away with her to execution. 

Warwick. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid. 
Spare for no fagots, let there be enough : 
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, 
That so her torture may be shortened. 

Pucelle. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts 1 

King Henry VI. Part l.—Jld V., Scene IV. 



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MARGARET. 



Margaret. What though I be enthiaird ! he seems a knight, 
And will not any way dishonor me. [^.iside. 

Siiffdk. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say, 

Margaret. Perhaps, I shall be rescuM by the French ; 
And then I need not crave his courtesy. [.^side. 

Suffolk. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause — 

Margaret. Tush : women have been captivate ere now. [jiside. 

Suffolk. Lady, wherefore talk you so 1 

Margaret. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo. 

Suffolk. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose 
Your bondage happy, to be made a queen 1 

Margaret. To be a queen in bondage, is more vile, 
Than is a slave in base servility : 
For princes should be free. 

Suffolk. And so shall you. 

If happy England's royal king be free. 

Margaret. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me 1 

Suffolk. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen ; 
To put a golden sceptre in thy hand. 
And set a precious crown upon thy head. 
If thou will condescend to be my — 

Margaret. What ? 

Suffolk. His love. 

.Margaret. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 

Suffolk. No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am 
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife. 
And have no portion in the choice myself. 
How say you, madam ; are you so content ? 

Margaret. An if my father please, I am content. 

Suffolk. Then call our captains, and our colors forth, 
And, madam, at your father's castle walls 
We'll crave a parley to confer with him. 

King Henry Y1., Part l.—Jd V., Scene III. 



QUEEN MARGARET. 



Queen Margaret. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and 
wail their loss, 
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
What, though the mast be now blown overboard. 
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, 
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood 1 
Yet lives our pilot still : Is't meet, that he 
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad. 
With tearful eyes add water to the sea. 
And give more strength to that which hath too much ; 
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, 
WTiich industry and courage might have sav'd 1 
Ah, what a shame ! ah' what a fault were this ! 
Say, Warwick was our anchor ! What of that ? 
And Montague our top-mast ; What of him ? 
Our slaughter'd friends the tackles ; What of these 1 
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor 1 
And Somerset another goodly mast ; 
The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings ? 
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I 
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge 1 
We will not from the helm, to sit and weep ; 
But keep our course, though the rough wind say — no, 
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. 
As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. 
And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea ? 
What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit 1 
And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock 1 
All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
Say, you can swim ; alas, 'tis but a while : 
Tread on the sand ; why, there you quickly sink : 
Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash you off, 
Or else you famish, that's a threefold death. 
This speak I, lords, to let you understand, 
In case some one of you would fly from us. 
That there's no hop 'd -for mercy with the brothers, 
More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks 
Why, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided, 
'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear. 

King He.nky VI., Part III.— Act V., Scene IV. 



LADY GREY. 



King Edward. 'Twere pity, they should lose their father's land. 
Lady Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. 
King Edward. Lords, give us leave ; I'll try this widow's wit. 
Gloucester. Ay, good leave have you ; for you will have leave. 
Till yo'jth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. 

[Gloucester and Clarence retire to the other side. 
King Edward. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children 1 
Lady Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. 
King Edward. And, would you not do much, to do them good ? 
Lady Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some harm. 
King Edward. Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. 
Lady Grey. Therefore I came untft your majesty. 
King Edward. I'll fell you how these lands are to be got. 
Lady Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' service. 
King Edward. What service wilt thou do me, if I give them ? 
Lady Grey. What you command, that rests in me to do. 

King Henry VI. — Act III., Scene IL 



LADY ANNE 



Jinne. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell ! 
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, 
His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone. 

Gloucester. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 

Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; 
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, 
Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. 
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, 
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries; 
O, gentlemen, see, see ! dead Henry's wounds 
Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh ! — 
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity; 
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood 
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells: 
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, 
Provokes this deluge most unnatural. — 
O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death ! 
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death ! 
Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer dead. 
Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick ; 
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood. 
Which his hell-governed arm hath butchered ! 

J King Richard III. — Act I., Scene II. 



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ANNE BULLEN. 



Lord Chamberlain. Good morrow, ladies. 'VSTiat wer't worth 
to know 
The secret of your conference ? 

Anne Bitllen. My good lord, 

Not your demand ; it values not your asking : 
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 

Lord Chamberlain. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
The action of good women : there is hope 
All will be well. 

Anne BuUen. Now I pray God, amen ! 

Lord Chamberlain. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly 
blessings 
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, 
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's 
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
Commends his good opinion to you, and 
Does purpose honor to you no less flowng 
Than marchioness of Pembroke ; to which title 
A thousand pound a year, annual support. 
Out of his grace he adds. 

Anne Bullen. I do not know. 

What kind of my obedience I should tender ; 
More than my all is nothing : nor my prayers 
Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 
More worth than empty vanities ; yet prayers and wishes 
Are all I can return. 'Beseech your lordship. 
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and my obedience, 
As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness , 
Whose health, and royalty, I pray for. 

Lord Chamberlain. Lady, 

I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit, 
The king hath of you. 

King Henky YSl.—Act IL, Scene IIL 



QUEEN KATHERINE. 



Griffith. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down quiet, 
For fear we wake her ; — Softly, gentle Patience. 

Katherine. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? Are ye all gone ? 
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye ? 

Griffith. Madam, we are here. 

Katherine. It is not you I call for : 

Saw ye none enter, since I slept ? 

Griffith. None, madam. 

Katherine. No 1 Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces 
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? 
They promis'd me eternal happiness ; 
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall, 
Assuredly. 

Griffith. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
Possess your fancy. 

Katherine. Bid the music leave, 

They are harsh and heavy to me. 

[J^Iusic ceases. 

Patience. Do you note. 

How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden 1 
How long her face is drawn 1 How pale she looks, 
And of an earthly cold 1 Mark you her eyes 1 

Griffith. She is going, wench ; pray, pray. 

Patience. Heaven comfort her ! 

Katherine. Mine eyes grow dim, — Farewell, 

My lord. — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience, 
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed ; 
Call in more women. — When I am dead, good wench, 
Let me be us'd with honor ; strew me over 
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 
I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me. 
Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like 
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
I can no more. 

King Henry VIII.— ^d IV., Scene IL 



^ 



CRESSIDA, 



Troilus. Cressid, I love thee in so strainM a purity. 
That the blest gods — as angry with my fancy, 
More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
Cold lips blow to their deities — take thee from me. 

Cressida. Have the gods envy 1 

Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay : 'tis too plain a case. 

Cressida. And is it true, that I must go from Troy 1 

Troilus. A hateful truth. 

Cressida. What, and from Troilus too 1 

Troilus. From Troy, and Troilus. 

Cressida. Is it possible ? 

Troilus. And suddenly ; where injury of chance 
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by 
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips 
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents 
Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows 
Even in the birth of our own laboring breath : 
We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
With the rude brevity and discharge of one. 
Injurious time now, with a robber's haste, 
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how : 
As many farewells as be stars in heaven. 
With distinct breath and consigned kisses to them, 
He fumbles up into a loose adieu ; 
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, 
Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 



Troilus and Cressida. — Jlct IV., Scene IV. 



H 



V I R G I L I A . 



Coriolanus. My wife comes foremost : then the honor'd mould 
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand 
The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection ! 
All bond and privilege of nature, break ! 
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. — 
What is that curt'sy worth ; or those doves' eyes, 
Which can make gods forsworn ? — I melt, and am not 
Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows ; 
As if Olympus to a molehill should 
In supplication nod : and my young boy 
Hath an aspect of intercession, which 
Great nature cries. Deny not, — Let the Voices 
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy ; I'll never. 
Be such a gosling to obey instinct ; but stand. 
As if a man were author of himself, 
And knew no other kin. 

Virgilia. My lord and husband ! 

Coriolanus. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. 

Virgilia. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd, 
Makes you think so. 

Coriolanus. Like a dull actor now, 

I have forgot my part, and I am out. 
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, 
Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say, 
For that, Forgive oiir Romans. — 0, a kiss 
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ! 
Now by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 
I carried from thee, dear ; and my true lip 
Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods ! I prate, 
And the most noble mother of the world 

Leave unsaluted : Sink, my knee, i' the earth ; \Kneels. 

Of thy deep duty more impression show 
Than that of common sons. 

CoEioLANUs. — .fict v., Scene III. 



PORTIA, WIFE OF BRUTUS. 



Brutus. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 

Portia. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
Is it expected I should know no secrets 
That appertain to you 1 Am I yourself, 
But, as it were, in sort, or limitation : 
To keep with you, at meals, comfort your bed, 
And talk to you sometimes 1 Dwell I but in the suburbs 
Of your good pleasure 1 If it be no more, 
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 

Brutus. You are my true aud honorable wife ; 
As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. 

Portia. If this were true, then should I know this secret. 
I grant, I am a woman : but, withal, 
A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife : 
I grant I am a woman ; but, withal, 
A woman well reputed ; Cato's daughter. 
Think you, I am no stronger than niy sex. 
Being so father'd, and so husbanded ? 
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them : 
I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
Giving myself a voluntary wound 
Here, in the thigh : Can I bear that with patience, 
And not my husband's secrets 1 

Brutus. O ye gods, 

Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 

[Knocking loithin. 
Hark, hark ! one knocks : Portia, go in a while ; 
And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
The secrets of my heart. 
All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
All the charactery of my sad brows : — 
Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia. 

Julius Cesar. — Act II., Scene I. 



'^ 



CLKOl'ATRA 



Cleopatra. O Charm i an, 

Where think'st thou he is now ? Stands he, or sits he 1 
Or does he walk ? or is he on his horse 1 
happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony ! 
Do bravely, horse, for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st ? 
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm 
And burgonet of men. — He's speaking now, 
Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Mile / 
For so he calls me : Now I feed myself 
With most delicious poison : — Think on me, 
That am with Phcebus' amorous pinches black, 
And wrinkled deep in time ? Broad-fronted Caesar, 
When thou wast here above the ground, I was 
A morsel for a monarch : and great Pompey 
Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow ; 
There would he anchor his aspect, and die 
With looking on his life. 

Enter Alexas. 

Alexas. Sovereign of Egypt, hail ! 

Cleopatra. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony ! 
Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath 
With his tinct gilded thee. — 
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony ? 
^kilffc Mexas. Last thing he did, dear queen. 

He klss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, 

This orient pearl : — His speech sticks in my heart. 

Cleopatra. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 

Alexas. Good friend, quoth he, 

Say, The firm Roman to great Egypt sends 
This treasure of an oyster ; at whose foot 
To mend the petty present, I will piece 
Her opulent throne mith kingdoms ; Jill the east. 
Say thou, shall call her miMress. So he nodded, 
And soberly did mount a termagant steed, 
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke 
Was beastly dumb'd by him. 

Antony ■^nd Cleopatra. — .fict I., Scene V. 



♦ V 



"^ 




IMOGEN, 



Imogen. Continues well, my lord, his health, beseech you ? 

lachimo. Well, madam. 

Imogen. Is he disposed to mirth 1 I hope, he is. 

lachimo. Exceeding pleasant : none a stranger there 
So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd 
The Briton reveller. 

Imogen. When he was here, 

He did incline to sadness ; and oft-times 
Not knowing why. 

lachimo I never saw him sad. 

There is a Frenchman his companion, one 
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 
A Gallian girl at home : he furnaces 
The thick sighs from him ; whiles the jolly Briton 
(Your lord I mean) laughs from's free lungs, cries, ! 
Can my sides hold, to think, that man, — who knows 
By history, report, or his own proof. 
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
But must he, — will his free hours languish for 
Assured bondage ? 

Imogen. Will my lord say so ? 

lachimo. Ay, madam : with his eyes in flood with laughter. 
It is a recreation to be by. 

And hear him mock the Frenchman : But, heavens know, 
Some men are much to blame. 

Imogen. Not he, I hope 

lachimo. Not he : But yet heaven's bounty towards him 
might 
Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ; 
In you, — which I count his, beyond all talents, — 
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 
To pity too. 

Imogen. What do you pity, sir 1 

lachimo. Two creatures, heartily. 

Imogen. Am I one, sir 1 

You look on me ; What wreck discern you in me, 
Deserves your pity 1 

Cymbeline. — Act I., Scene VII. 





Kmi'% ¥!''f^ 



LAVINIA 



Tittis. Look, Marcus ! ah, son Lucius, look on her. 
When I (lid name her brothers, then fresh tears 
Stood on her cheeks ; as doth the honey dew 
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. 

Marcus. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her husband 
Perchance, because she knows them innocent. 

Titus. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful 
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. — 
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; 
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. — 
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips ; 
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease : 
Sliall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, 
And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain ; 
Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks 
How they are stain'd ? like meadows, yet not dry 
With miry slime left on them by a flood 1 
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long, 
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, 
And made a brine pit with our bitter tears 1 
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine 1 
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows 
Pass the remainder of our hateful days ? 
What shall we do ? let us, that have our tongues. 
Plot some device of further misery. 
To make us wonder'd at, in time to come. 

Lucius. Sweet father, cease your tears ; for, at your grief. 
See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. 

Marcus. Patience, dear niece : — good Titus, dry thine eyes. 

Titus. Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wot, 
'J"hy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, 
For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. 



TiTus Andronicus. — Act III., Scene I. 



CORDELIA, 



Cordelia. O you kind gods, 
Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up 
Of this child-changed father ! 

Physician. So please your majesty. 

That we may wake the king ? he hath slept long. 

Cordelia. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ? 

Gentleman. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep, 
We put fresh garments on him. 

Physician. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him : 
I doubt not of his temperance. 

Cordelia. Very well. 

Physician. Please you, draw near. — Louder the musick there. 

Cordelia. O my dear father ! Restoration, hang 
Thy medicine upon my lips ; and let this kiss 
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
Have in thy reverence made ! 

Kent. Kind and dear princess ! 

Cordelia. Had you not been their father, these white flakes 
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
To be expos'd against the warring winds 1 
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder 1 
In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
Of quick, cross-lightning 1 to watch (poor perdu!) 
With this thin helm 1 Mine enemy's dog. 
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 
Against my fire ; And wast thou fain, poor father, 
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, 
In short and musty straw 1 Alack, alack ! 
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once 
Had not concluded all. — He wakes ; speak to him. 

King Lear.— .^d VI., Scene VII. 




B.Eyle 




JULIET, 



Romeo. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
O, that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might touch that cheek ! 

Juliet. Ah me ! 

Romeo. She speaks : — 

O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
As glorious to this sight, being o'er my head, 
As is a winged messenger of heaven 
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes 
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, 
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds. 
And sails upon the bosom of the air. 

Juliet. Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou Romeo 1 
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name : 
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love. 
And I'll no longer be a Capulet. 

Romeo. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ? {.flsio 

.Juliet. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy ; — 
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. 
What's Montague 1 it is nor hand, nor foot, 
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
Belonging to a man. 0, be some other name ! 
What's in a name 1 that which we call a rose, 
By any other name would smell as sweet ; 
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, 
Retain that dear perfection which he owes, 
Without that title : — Romeo, doff thy name : 
And for that name, which is no part of thee, 
Take all myself. 

Romeo. 1 take thee at thy word : 

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized ; 
Henceforth I never will be Rom^o. 

Jrdiet. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night. 
So stumblest on my counsel 1 

RoMEO AND Juliet. — Act II., Scene II. 



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/ 




OPHELIA 



Laertes. rose of May ! 

Deti. maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! 

heavens ! is 't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life 1 
Nature is fine in love ; and, where 'tis fine, 

It sends some precious instance of itself 
Alter the thing it loves. 

Ophelia. They bore him harefac'd on the bier ; 
Hey no nonny, Tuynny hey nonny : 
And in his grave rahi'd many a tear ; — 
Fare you well, my dove ! 

Laertes. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, 
It could not move thus. 

Ophelia. You must sing, Doum-a-doitm, an you call him a-dovm-a. 
0, how the wheel becomes it ! it is the false steward, that stole his 
master's daughter. 

Laertes. This nothing's more than matter. 

Ophelia. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance ; 'pray you love, 
remember : and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. 

Laertes. A document in madness ; thoughts and remembrance 
fitted. 

Ophelia. There's fennel for you, and columbines : — there's rue for 
you ; and here's some for me : — we may call it, herb of grace o' Sun- 
days : — you may wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy ; — 

1 would give you some violets ; but they withered all, when my father 
died ; — They say, he made a good end, 

For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. [Sings. 

Laertes. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself. 
She turns to favor and to prettiness. 

Ophelia. And will he not come again 1 [Sings. 

And will he not come again ? 
JVb, no, he is dead, 
Go to thy death-bed, 
He never will come again. 

His beard was as white as snow, 
All fiaxen was his poll : 
He is gone, he is gone, 
And we cast away moan ; 
God a' mercy on his soul ! 
And of all Christian souls ! I pray God. God be wi' you ! 

Hamlet. — Act IV., Scene V. 



DESDEMON A. 



Othello. These things to hear, 

Would Desdemona seriously incline : 

But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; 

Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 

She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 

Devour up my discourse : Which I observing, 

Took once a pliant liour; and found good means 

To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 

That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 

Wliereof by parcels she had something heard. 

But not intentively : I did consent ; 

And often did beguile her of her tears, 

When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 

That my youth suffer'd. My story being done. 

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 

She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : 

She wish'd she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 

That heaven had made her such a man ; she thanked me ; 

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 

I should but teach him how to tell my story. 

And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake : 

She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'dj 

And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 

Othello. — Act I., Scene III. 



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